


The Other Side of Heaven

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heaven, Hell, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake winds up in Heaven, where Avon joins him. Blake mistrusts things that are too easy, so Avon winds up in Hell, where Blake joins him.</p><p>They're dead, but they're still running around getting into trouble.</p><p>Really, they need to find a middle ground. Fortunately Saint Peter has a soft spot for lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of Heaven

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

(First a musical interlude.)

Heaven, I'm in Heaven,  
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak;  
And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek.

Dance with me  
I want my arm about you;  
The charm about you  
Will carry me thro' to Heaven

I'm in Heaven,  
and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak;  
And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.

(excerpts from 'Cheek to Cheek')  
Fred Astaire  
(Irving Berlin)

 

Blake couldn't see anything except billows of white- even the ground was nothing but fog. Faint pastel rainbow shades flickered and ran like sheet lightning over entire banks of the clouds. He was walking, but he wasn't sure if he had a destination. It didn't seem to matter, though. It was pleasant walking through fog that smelled like spring flowers. Not at all like the fogs on...on...hang on. He had been somewhere else, not that long ago. Somewhere where the fog was gray and wrapped around the boles of huge trees. Gauda Prime! That was it. He'd been hunting... no, he'd been looking for rebels among the... Avon! He'd found Avon! But why wasn't Avon here, then?

Suddenly Blake was running, trying to get through the fog. "Avon!" he shouted, "Avon! I'm coming!" Avon was in danger. He knew that, somehow.

"It's all right," came a voice out of the fog.

Blake stopped and turned toward the voice. A man came out of the mists. He didn't appear terribly solid at first, but as he came closer he became a smiling, elderly, but strong-looking, man dressed in pale blue robes. In reflex, Blake looked down at himself and was relieved to see green-brown leather tunic, tan shirt, earth-brown trousers, and heavy brown boots. He wasn't the flowing robes type. He looked back at the man. "Who are you?"

"Your guide. Call me Peter."

"Peter. Where is Avon?" Blake knew somehow that Peter was on his side. He hadn't trusted his instincts of late, but this man was so very _right_ that no one could doubt him.

"He isn't here." Peter clasped his hands behind his back and began walking at Blake's side.

Blake fell in step automatically. "Why not? He was with me. He came to be with me." Blake was sure of that, too. Strange how so many positive feelings were coming back to him. It was as if he'd lived the last few Avon-less years wrapped in his own personal fog of despair.

Peter looked at Blake. "When you remember, you'll know why he isn't here."

"Remember? Have I been mind-wiped again?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just that the transition can be difficult. Particularly when it is so abrupt. Here, come and sit for a moment."

Blake hadn't noticed, but the fog was gone. He and Peter were in the middle of a town square flanked by picturesque old buildings. There were people talking, people strolling by; people of all races and species and wearing every conceivable garment. The only thing they had in common seemed to be their enjoyment of the beautiful spring day. The sky was full of fluttering butterflies and singing birds, there were multicolored flowers blooming in tubs, and even small, friendly animals wandering from person to person, seeking affection.

Peter led Blake to an outdoor dining area where a woman greeted them both by name and brought Blake the finest ale he'd ever drunk. "Everything is perfect," Blake marvelled as he put the glass down. His perpetual headache was gone. His eye didn't even...He put up his hand, and examined his face. The damaged eyelid was whole again, the scar gone as if it had never been. Someone was playing with his mind! "What have you done to me?"

Peter said, "Nothing. Everything here is as you feel it should be."

Blake looked into Peter's eyes and the last of Blake's personal fog lifted. "I'm dead."

Peter nodded. "And in Heaven."

"Heaven is an archaic concept, eliminated at the beginning of the Second Calendar."

Peter nodded again. "Yes, that was the theory. It doesn't seem to have worked. People still want to come here and so they do. Heaven is based on desire."

"Avon." Blake didn't need to think about it. "I want Avon." He also wanted all the other people he'd loved, but there was a special urgency about Avon. "He's in trouble. He needs me."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. His fate is sealed."

"You mean he's going to die soon?" Blake had mixed feelings. He didn't want Avon hurt, but if it meant they would be together... "Then he'll come here." It wasn't a question.

Peter looked disturbed for the first time since Blake had seen him. "His version of Heaven and yours might not be quite compatible. There are other places he could be sent. It might be better for both of you."

"I want Avon." That was the only thing that Blake could focus on. 

Peter said, "Well, then you shall have him. Shut your eyes and sleep, Blake."

"Why?" Even trusting Peter as he did, that seemed a peculiar request, and how could Blake sleep sitting up in the middle of the day?

"Because Avon is not due for several months. I can help you sleep until he comes. Or you could explore Heaven while waiting for him."

"Why not bring him here, now?"

"Impossible. That's strictly against the rules."

Heaven wasn't heaven without Avon. Blake had no interest in sightseeing. "I'll sleep." Blake shut his eyes and put his head down on the table.

***

"Wake up. He's here."

Blake lifted his head and blinked at Peter. "Where?"

Peter nodded. "Behind you."

Blake got up so quickly he overturned his chair. Avon was standing at the edge of the town square, looking confused and oh, so very beautiful. He was wearing an outfit Blake remembered with particular pleasure. Black, thigh-high boots, skin-tight black leather trouser, and that outrageously flowing silver leather tunic. And his face... his face was the face of that younger man, not the worn and ragged man who'd shot...oh. Blake had thought he'd remembered it all. Avon had shot him. Avon had killed him. Blake looked inside himself for the anger, the sense of betrayal that ought to be there, but all he could see was Avon, standing there, alone in the crowd, looking vulnerable.

"Avon!" he shouted and everyone turned to look at him. Everyone except Avon, who stood still, eyes flicking nervously at everyone who passed him. Blake went to Avon. "Avon?" Avon flinched and started to back away, so Blake grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong, Avon?"

"Avon?" Avon repeated his own name, hesitantly. He plucked at Blake's hands. "I don't... is that my name? Who are you?"

"You're Kerr Avon and I'm Roj Blake. Don't you remember?" Blake hadn't been that bad. When he came through the fog, at least he'd known who he was.

"No," Avon replied, slowly. He looked up at Blake, a sideways, flirtacious glance and said, "But now I remember we were lovers." And he pressed his body against Blake, who went totally still in shock.

No, we weren't, Blake thought. Never. We never gave in to our feelings, never once let our hearts rule our minds.

Peter came into Blake's range of vision, just past Avon's shoulder. "Heaven is your heart's desire and this is his."

But, Blake thought in protest, it's not mine, not to have Avon like this! He was going to say so, but then Avon shifted back far enough to look up into Blake's face, and the love shining there was undeniable. Blake lowered his head fractionally, meeting Avon's lips with his own. In public! his mind screamed in panic, but when he opened his eyes to look at the people passing, all he saw were tender, reminiscent smiles. He folded his arms around Avon, tightening until he felt worried he might break Avon's ribs, then let go hurriedly.

Avon laughed, rather breathlessly, and said, "So, you missed me, too." He took Blake's hand. "It's been a long time, I think."

"Years. Avon," Blake said, wanting to get things right, not to start their new- well, he couldn't call it life, now could he?- their new relationship with a lie. "Avon, I need to know what happened to you."

"Do you?" Avon gazed at him guilelessly. "Why? We're here, what else matters? Come." And Avon pulled on Blake's hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace with a bed. A large bed, with satin sheets, I think. We've quite a bit of catching up to do."

Naturally, there was a hotel, a luxurious one despite its primitive architecture. Heaven seemed to be based on Earth's past, but a mellower, kinder past than could ever have existed even in Sarkoff's museum. And without the inconveniences. From the outside, the hotel appeared to be a three-story building, but the lift took them up to a penthouse suite finer than any Blake had ever seen in the domes.

"Very nice," Avon commented after glancing at the view of distant snow-covered mountains from the tall windows surrounding the suite. He located a control for the floor-length black velvet curtains that flanked the windows, standing with his back to the heavy draperies as they swished into place, cutting out the outside world. "But too distracting. I want you to look at me."

"I am looking at you, Avon." Blake could see nothing else. Avon spot-lighted in silver against the drapes, black trousers and boots blending into them, so he seemed to float, silver light suspended in darkness, pale face and hands, dark hair and eyes. Avon, all contrasts. "You're beautiful." 

Avon smiled. "And I find you esthetically pleasing as well. Well now, are we going to admire each other all day, or are you going to come here and do something?"

"I'm going to admire you all day." Blake went to Avon, and took both his hands, bringing them up to place a kiss in each upturned palm. "And do whatever you like."

"Oh, now this has possibilities." Avon pulled his hands, and Blake's with them, back around his waist. He sighed and closed his eyes, throwing his head back to expose his throat. "Start at the top. I feel like being methodical, Roj."

Blake's heart nearly stopped. Avon's rich voice, in that intimate pitch, calling him 'Roj', was a wonder beyond anything he'd found in Heaven or Earth or any planet in between. He gasped, and then he was kissing Avon, kissing his hair, his eyebrows, the faint, fanning wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, kissing each eyelid closed, tracing the arch of Avon's nose, his hands up into Avon's hair, holding him as Blake mapped the contours of his beloved's face.

Avon laughed and pushed Blake away. "Not _that_ methodical!" He pulled Blake back again, and turned his head at just the right angle so their lips met without noses colliding. Avon sucked hard, tongue licking at Blake's lips until Blake opened to him. "I want you," Avon said, between rapid, darting kisses, "Only you. It's only ever been you."

But what of Anna? Blake thought. Avon had said nothing, but Del Grant had let slip enough for Blake to read between the lines. Avon had loved Anna and he couldn't even remember her? "Avon," he said. "I've got to tell you..."

"Tell me anything. I'd believe it. I believe in you, Roj." Avon's fingers were at Blake's belt, unbuckling it, and opening the trousers to delve within. "Does that feel good, Roj?" he whispered, breath hot against Blake's throat.

Blake moaned.

Avon fell to his knees in the soft carpeting. "I want this to be the best ever for you. I don't want you to ever forget me again."

"I didn't, Avon."

Avon looked up, and something in his eyes made Blake say, "Kerr. I have always loved you. I could forget everything else, but not that. I wish you could remember."

Avon smiled and leaned forward to kiss the tip of Blake's cock, which had risen to its full height without him noticing. "I remember that I love you. What else matters? Now, come to bed, Roj." Avon slipped out of the silver tunic, and as the black knit shirt beneath was revealed became a disconnected face, and hands. Blake couldn't bear it, it was as if Avon was disappearing. He fell to his knees much harder than Avon had, not caring whether the floor was soft, or covered in broken glass, in order to snatch off the black shirt. Beneath it, Avon was reassuringly solid, firm muscle covered by skin only slightly darker and less luminous than the silver shirt.

"No hurry, Roj," Avon replied, putting a hand on Blake's heaving chest. "We have all night." He kissed Blake again, and laughed. "As many nights as we wish. I'm so glad I'm dead. I should have killed myself long ago."

It was like a splash of ice-water in Blake's face. He stopped, and held Avon at arm's length. "You didn't."

Avon shrugged. "It was necessary. It was the only way we could be together. Besides, there wasn't really much left of me." He snuggled against Blake, apparently willing to accept any contact. "They had me for a very long time, Roj." His lips curved. "They thought that blinding me would make me helpless, but even a blind man can find an artery. One day I heard a knife drop to the cell floor while they were torturing me. After they left, I searched until I found it. It was a sharp knife, almost painless, really."

"Damn the Federation, damn them to Hell."

"But it wasn't the Federation," Avon said reasonably. "It was your rebels. I'd done something or other that made them hate me." He sighed against Blake's chest, warm breath silken against Blake-skin gone cold with horror. "Well, you wanted me to remember what happened to me and I did. It's over. Now, can we go to bed?"

Blake's heart was breaking, but he couldn't resist Avon. "All right, all right." He moved away far enough to fling off his own vest and then the tunic, slipped his trousers down his hips, and then had to stop, sitting awkwardly on the floor, to wrestle off his boots which became tangled in the fabric. By the time he got himself undone, he looked up to see Avon sitting on the edge of the bed, nude, head cocked, and eyes amused.

"Ah, Roj." Avon held out his arms. "Come here. Let me hold you."

Avon's arms were warm and strong, and his hands knew exactly the way Blake liked to be petted and stroked. Blake came unexpectedly, spurting into Avon's hands. Gasping, he fell back across the bed, followed by Avon who lay on top of him, chuckling. "You always were impatient, Roj," Avon murmured, pressing a hot, hard cock against Blake's belly. "Whereas I, on the other hand, preferred to take my time in such matters."

He kissed his way down Blake's heaving chest, pausing to suckle each nipple in turn, then down to the belly button, which he teased with mock-thrusts of his tongue, until Blake was moaning again, wanting more. He said something of the sort out loud.

"Do you really?" Avon asked in mock surprise. "Are you quite sure?" Avon was preternaturally calm, despite the outward signs of his excitement- flushed face and chest, hair damp and wavy with sweat, eyes dilated black and cock slapping against a lean and heaving stomach. Somehow his voice remained steady, and his hands did not shake as they stroked Blake's cream along the length of Avon's cock.

Blake lifted his knees in invitation. "Yes. I want you, Avon."

"Kerr."

For some ill-defined reason, being granted the intimacy of first names bothered Blake, but he pushed the thought aside. "Kerr. Take me." Avon settled into position between Blake's legs. It should be uncomfortable at the least, as a spatter of semen was more romantic than efficient. Blake breathed out, readying himself, and Avon waited, patiently, eyes fixed on Blake's face. "Now, Kerr," Blake ordered, and Avon obeyed instantly, thrusting smoothly inside.

Blake arched into it, astonished by how easy it was. It was hot and tight, and yet there was no pain, no clenching as taut muscles were slow to relax. It was perfect. It was heavenly. Blake grunted and moved with Avon in him. "Faster!" he cried, and Avon picked up the pace, leaning heavily on Blake's shoulders to balance himself as he worked his way in deeper. So good, Blake thought, so bloody wonderful. Each time Avon pumped in, his cock hit perfectly against Blake's 'secret spot' and the pure, sensual electricity of it began filling Blake' penis again.

He wasn't a young man, it shouldn't be possible, not so soon, but there it was, rising to an aching erectness while Avon still was panting and heaving himself into Blake.

Somehow Avon bent down and kissed Blake without moving out of his arse. Blake thought he would black out from sheer stimulation, pulse pounding in his temples in rhythm with Avon pounding up his backside. "Now, Avon," he groaned. "Now!"

Avon didn't complain about the name. He just froze, clutching Blake hard as he orgasmed, flooding Blake with warmth before collapsing on top of him. He was only still a moment, then he pulled out and grinned down at Blake.

"Ah, I see you'd like another turn. My proud, upstanding rebel." Avon pushed Blake's legs flat, and straddled his waist. His hair was totally soaked and wreathed his face in wildly curling tendrils, while his lips were cherry-pink from the kissing. "Yes, Roj, I'm yours. Any way, and every way," he whispered, rising on his knees, then immediately lowering to impale himself on Blake. "Ah!" he said sharply, but there was no pain in the sound. He began riding hard, moving swiftly over Blake, arse clamped down so deliciously tight that Blake couldn't understand how Avon could move, yet move he did.

"Avon, Avon," Blake moaned, over and over again, grasping any part of Avon he could reach, thrusting up as hard as he could, then harder, then impossibly harder yet. And the coming was a glory beyond anything his nervous system had ever experienced. He lay dazzled and dazed by it, dimly aware of Avon disentangling himself from Blake and lying beside him. Avon was still kissing Blake, but it was sweet, soft, gentle touches, meant to comfort and reassure rather than arouse.

Blake turned toward Avon, and looked into that placid, satisfied, gentle gaze, and suddenly felt sick. "This isn't you. This isn't really happening." Blake shook his head. "Heaven is about desire. I wanted you, so they created you for me. You're not real, you're not!" He sat up and nearly fell.

"Of course I'm real, Roj," Avon said, in that gentle, understanding voice.

"Peter!" Blake bellowed. "Peter!" He got up, leaving Avon in the bed, staring after him with love and bewilderment in those dark, depthless eyes. Blake couldn't look at him as he gathered his clothes and began throwing them on. "It was all too perfect. You'd never let me call you Kerr. And sex isn't that magnificent, that easy and perfect. Nobody can be that tight, and still not need lube," he muttered, recalling the smooth slide of Avon on his cock, straight down without even a second's pause.

"What are you talking about, Roj?" Avon asked, sitting up, disheveled and delicious, so that Blake could not bear to look at him and turned quickly aside. "We love each other, what else matters?"

"That's another thing Avon would never say. He wouldn't admit to love. Never. PETER!"

"I'm sorry, Blake." Peter's voice came from behind Blake. "I did try to explain."

"I told you I wanted Avon. The real Avon." Blake turned to face Peter.

"That is Avon."

"No." Blake glared at Peter. Even in Heaven, he could rebel.

"Avon wanted to be your lover. He wanted to be the lover you'd always needed, supportive, accepting, affectionate. He changed for you, of his own free will. This is what he chose for his Heaven."

"It's not right."

Avon said, "Roj? Blake? Why don't you want me?" in a voice sounding very close to tears.

Blake refused to turn. "Avon doesn't cry," he said harshly. "You're not Avon. I can't love you." He stood, shoulders braced and prepared to fight, if only he could find an opponent, and tried not to hear the bed creak, or the soft pad of bare feet coming towards him.

"Blake. I'm afraid. If I was that other Avon again, I'd lose you."

"You don't have me now." Blake was adamant. He'd had one life based on lies, forced on him by the Federation. Even if it was the most pleasant lie ever, he wasn't going to do that again. Not even to have Avon. Because it wasn'tAvon.

There was a long sigh and warmth against his back. "Very well." There was a long pause. "I want to be myself, as I was. I want to be the man you loved. I know it's a mistake. But I still want it."

Peter sighed. "So let it be."

"Avon?"

"Yes." The voice behind Blake was weary and cold. If there was any love in it, he couldn't hear it.

Blake turned. Avon was outwardly the same. He still had that boyish haircut, and the creases at the corners of his eyes were still faint, but something was gone. Avon looked directly into Blake's face, and he flinched as he realized what had gone. Avon's memory was back and the innocence of amnesia was no longer his.

"Well, Blake, I suppose this is where we apologize to each other and go our separate ways." Avon began picking up his clothes and getting dressed, as calmly as they'd done on the London, when they'd been pretending they didn't notice each other. Black trousers, on with an efficient wriggle. Black boots, on with a vicious stomp.

"Avon, I still love you. I meant it."

"Yes, I never doubted that." The black knit shirt went on, and then the silver tunic. Avon went over to a mirror, giving a slight, cynical smile as he discovered a silver-backed hairbrush on the table set before it, and began smoothing his hair. "Unfortunately, you've always had to have everything your own way. Pity you couldn't simply accept what you'd always wanted- an Avon who could cry and be gentle with you."

"I didn't want an Avon who was _forced_ to cry, to be gentle."

"There was no force in it." Avon finished tidying himself and turned back to Blake. "As Peter told you, I chose. During the months that your rabble revenged themselves on me for your murder..." Blake made a choked noise, and Avon waited a moment to see if he had any comment, then went on, "as I was saying, while I was being slowly tortured to death for having shot a fool, I had ample opportunity to think over my life. Lying in the night - of course, it's always night when you've been blinded. Perhaps it's more accurate to say- in the intervals between sessions- I began to suspect that you'd been right, that I should have been less logical, less repressed and cynical. The end would probably have been the same, but at least I would have had some decent memories." His lips twisted. "So when I got that unpleasantness over with, I tried it your way. It didn't work." He turned to Peter. "I want," he said, without looking back at Blake, "to be somewhere else. I don't particularly care where. Just so _he_ isn't there."

"No, Avon," Blake said softly, feeling helpless.

Peter looked even more uncomfortable than he had during Avon's dispassionate speech. "This is Heaven. The only other choice..."

"Ah." Avon tilted his head, considering, then nodded. "Fine. I'm sure I will manage quite well there. I'm used to it, after all. I would like to have a gun, though." He looked down at the Liberator hand-gun that materialized, holster, power-pack and all, around his waist. He drew it and sighted down it experimentally, whirling to aim it at Blake. "Just like old times," he murmured, before holstering the gun.

Blake said, "Avon, you don't have to go. I'll leave you alone. You deserve Heaven as much as I do."

"And as little. I had thought there were restrictions, but if they will allow either of us admittance, Heaven is hardly an exclusive club. Perhaps Hell will be more interesting." He reached out to pat Blake gently on the cheek. "There. Let us part not as enemies, but rather as two strangers who ought never to have met. Peter, I'm ready. I want to go now." Avon drew the gun again, and crouched slightly, as he had done whenever they teleported down to a hostile world.

"NO! Avon!" Blake shouted, but it was too late. Avon and Peter were both gone, and no amount of shouting, demanding, begging, or bargaining brought either of them back.

***

Blake often sat in the outdoor dining area where he had first entered Heaven. It was convenient to the places he usually frequented; the bar where they served excellent scotch, the dispensary where they gave him pills that temporarily took away all his pain, the little movie house where they would play selected scenes from your life and give you large tubs of buttered popcorn that Blake used to throw at the Federation soldiers and himself, whenever he saw himself with Avon wasting opportunities. But the real reason Blake liked the outdoor dining area was that he could sometimes pretend that Avon was coming back, and he would appear out of the mists, looking confused and beautiful. Or angry and beautiful. Or desperate and beautiful.

Blake had another excellent ale, in another perfect spring day, automatically noting the fineness, the perfection, of both. A shadow came between him and the perfect sunlight, dulling the amber gleam of his ale to swamp-water brown. He swirled the glass and drank the rest of it. Swamp-water or ale, it was all one to him. Without looking up, he said, "Yes?"

"Blake, it's me, Peter."

Blake lifted his head. "Avon's gone to Hell because I denied him Heaven. What is Hell like?"

"It's different for everyone who goes there. Like Heaven in that respect."

Blake nodded. "In Heaven you get what you want, even if it's not good for you. I can't quite see a direct reversal in Hell. You don't get what you want?"

"Hell runs on guilt."

"In that case, I should be there in his place. Avon never feels- felt- guilty for anything he'd ever done. Perhaps regret, but not guilt."

"Are you sure?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. You see, if you suffer enough to atone for your guilt, you leave Hell. Eventually. But if you never even admit the guilt, you never leave."

Blake's fist clenched around the glass until it shattered. Because he wanted it, the glass cut him, and he sat, watching himself bleed, until he tired of it and the wound disappeared. "There's no pain in Heaven. I suppose that's reversed, too."

"Yes."

"So Avon is being tortured again."

"Yes."

Blake got up and stood over Peter. "Send me to Hell." Blake glanced once around at Heaven, the pastel-colored fog, the unobtrusive music, the happy people. "I'm ready. I've had enough of Heaven."

***

This fog was red, shot through with flashes of dull yellow. It smelled like putrid blood. Blake marched steadily along, ignoring the heat and the muffled screams in the distance. He wondered if Hell provided guides, not that he'd trust one, anyway.

The mist vanished between one step and the next. Blake paused. The hellish version of a town square looked remarkably like one of the main cross-corridors in an Earthdome. "BLAKE!" came a shout, and Blake looked up to see Travis running towards him. He braced himself for the impact, but Travis merely pushed him roughly aside and continued running, shouting Blake's name.

"He's mad, you see, we're all mad here." A tall, but very soft-looking, man came up to paw at Blake. He had a large mole on his face that bled a thin and gangrenous ichor, dripping down to burn holes in his ragged laboratory coat. "Oh, but you're a fine specimen. You'd be even more fun than the other one." And the large man began giggling.

Behind him a gaunt and frail elder screamed, "No, you don't, Egrorian! You got the last new one! This one's mine!" and the two men began clawing and biting at each other. Blake stood back and watched until there was a victor. Surprisingly, it was the thin one, who paused to kick the large man in the genitals, then turned his bright, mad eyes on Blake. "I won, I won!" He jiggled up and down in glee. "That means you're mine, I can do whatever I want with you." He began drooling.

Blake said, "What about the other new one? If you've won, then isn't he yours as well?"

"Yes, yes, every one, all the lovely boys are mine now. I've won, I've won!"

Blake reached out and grabbed the madman by the back of his neck. "I'll break your neck if you don't take me to Avon."

"Avon, who's that? I don't know any Avon. Do I, Egrorian?" he asked the quivering lump on the ground.

Blake snapped the thin man's neck and dropped him. Then he kicked the fat one. "Get up and tell me where Avon is."

Egrorian got to his knees. He looked at the thin one and said, "Oh, Pinder, my love, what did he do to you?"

"Broke my neck, didn't he? It hurts, Egrorian, it hurts." And the broken-necked man began weeping bloody tears while Egrorian kissed him and tried to lap up the blood.

Blake gave up on them and continued walking down the corridor. Hell was full of madmen and madwomen, at least one around every corner. None of them seemed particularly dangerous to Blake, just pathetic and disgusting. The corridor he was following ended abruptly, and he was looking out over the dark and broken landscape of Cygnus Alpha with the ruin of Vargas's castle dominating the landscape. "I wonder if Vargas is here?"

"Of course I am, little man," came a great, booming voice that certainly sounded like Vargas.

Blake searched for a few moments before discovering its source, a vast black statue carved in Vargas's image. "And are you still God?" he asked the statue.

"Of course!" The carved eyes moved until it was looking at him. "I know you, don't I?"

"Do you?"

"YES!" Vargas shouted. "You are one of my worshippers. At last, at last. I have been waiting here so long." The statue's mouth actually twitched as if it would smile. "For the first of the faithful, a boon. Tell me what you would have, and I will grant it."

"Avon. I want my friend Avon."

"Hmm." Vargas rumbled. "Very well, I give him to you."

Blake rolled his eyes. "If you could just tell me where he is." Situated where he was, Vargas must have seen Avon if he had followed the same corridor as Blake. Blake had tried to think as Avon would, avoiding the smaller corridors for fear of traps and dead ends, but he was uncertain what Avon would do here, faced with a seemingly endless horizon.

"What is this Avon like?"

"He's a little shorter than I am, wearing a silver tun..."

"No, no, no," Vargas interrupted. "I am a God, above such petty things as outward appearances. What is he like inside?"

"He's..." Blake hesitated. What could he say? That Avon was mostly honorable, except when a profit was involved, brave, except when he saw the risk as unacceptable, snide and sarcastic, except when he'd decided to show off the beautiful manners he'd learned somewhere. The only unequivocable fact he knew was- "He's my lover. We quarreled and he left."

"Ahh." Vargas sounded satisfied. "And your name is Roj?"

"Yes!" Blake's heart leapt.

"He needed to be scourged, that one. My new acolytes, Pinder and Egrorian, took care of him."

Blake's fists clenched, uselessly. There was no threatening a stone."Where?"

"I believe he's on the seventh cross to your right. No, don't bother to thank me, my son," Vargas boomed as Blake ran to the right, towards the dimly visible line of 'X's set in the rocky soil. He didn't look at the things attached to them, and he didn't stop running until he reached the seventh one.

A figure hung there, tattered silver tunic falling in shreds. If it wasn't for the silver, Blake would never have known it was Avon.

"Pinder?" The battered head twitched and the weak voice called. "Egrorian? Is it time?" He stirred, trying to raise himself, but his legs were too weak, and he gave up after a token attempt, letting his weight hang by his wrists once more.

"It's me, Blake," Blake said. He lifted Avon's head, and gasped. There were no eyes. Just a raw, whipped area where they should have been and horrid matter flowing from the wounds. "Oh, Gods, Avon."

Avon flinched. "Go away," he said in that cracked parody of the voice Blake had loved to listen to, even when it was arguing with him. "It's too late. It always was."

"I can't. This is Hell, you know. There is no going back." Blake was working at the thongs holding Avon to the cross.

"You fool," Avon said, despairing. "Why? Because you felt guilty?"

"Because I love you. Now, save your strength." With the last thong removed, Avon fell forward into Blake's arms, and he could see Avon's back. Bones, covered in blood. There was no flesh left. If this wasn't Hell, Avon would have died long ago. Blake picked Avon up, not bothered by the filth or the blood, only by the pain he caused. But he would not leave Avon here. "The city. I'll find something for you in the city."

Avon's head nodded against Blake's chest, but it was only caused by the movement of Blake's stride. "No, you won't. This is Hell. You can't die here, but you can suffer, and none of the wounds ever heal." His hand lifted and pressed gently against Blake's chest. "I wish you had not come."

"I wish I had come sooner." Blake kissed Avon's bloody lips, gently, a bare touch.

"I wish I had stayed in Heaven, then." Avon's head moved again. "You will not leave me, and sooner or later, one of these madmen will trick you, and treat you the same as I was."

"How did they trick you, Avon?"

"What does it matter?"

"If I'm to avoid it, it might help to know what I'm avoiding."

Avon sighed. "There was an image."

"Of?"

"You."

"Ah. In some distress?"

Avon didn't answer for a long time, and then he sighed again. "Yes, all right. You were being tortured, and I came heroically to the rescue. That never is a good idea, you know."

"We're only human. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Haven't you suffered enough?"

"I didn't know we were keeping score."

Blake looked at Vargas. They were almost to the statue. "Don't we always? We play with guilt, you and I, Avon. We trade on it, back and forth."

"Yes, I suppose we do," Avon admitted.

"Can't we simply forgive each other?"

"At this point? In Hell?" Avon laughed, briefly. "All right. I forgive you for everything you've ever done to me, or anyone, whether in following your bloody cause, or simply out of the general annoyance factor of your existence."

"And do you forgive yourself?"

That one was harder, but eventually Avon nodded. "Why not. If there were penance to be done, I must have done it by now."

Vargas turned.

Blake blinked. The huge statue stood up, shaking dirt from its feet, and laughed. "Well done, my son. Both of you, my sons!"

"Vargas?" 

"Peter. I'm incognito."

Blake hoped once more, totally irrationally, but still, he hoped. "Avon, can you..."

"Not here." The great statue's head shook ponderously. His arm lifted and the black stone pointed towards the misshapen castle. "Take him there."

Blake shifted the weight in his arms. It looked a long walk, and he wasn't sure, suddenly he wasn't sure. Was this Peter? Or was it a trick of Hell? 

Avon shifted in Blake's arms. "Trust him."

"Why?" 

"Not sure why. Something about... showing your goodness by being willing to trust." He raised what was left of his eyebrows in a heartbreakingly familiar gesture. "Cally once said something along those lines. She's dead, too. But at least she's not in Hell."

"All right." Blake marched toward the castle. Before he was halfway there, a fog came up. This one was green, and smelled like plants. Plain, ordinary shoots coming up after the rain in a new-plowed field.

"Something's happening," Avon muttered. "Put me down."

"Avon?"

"Put me down!" Avon began writhing in Blake's arms so wildly that he nearly dropped him. Hurriedly, Blake eased Avon down to the ground, and knelt beside him. Avon curled up on his side, groaning.

"Avon?" It was hard to tell in the green fog, but..."Avon, your back!" Blake ran his hand over Avon's skin, feeling the smooth new skin with wonder.

Avon rolled over and looked up at Blake, his new eyes laughing. "Yes, I'm back." He reached for Blake's hand and pulled himself up as Blake stood. They looked at each other for a long moment, then turned together and gazed at the green fog. "It isn't Hell," Avon said, thoughtfully.

"And it isn't Heaven."

Avon shrugged. "Then let's see what it is."

"Together." Blake took Avon's hand in his. Avon looked down at their clasped hands for a long, long moment, then he looked back up at Blake.

"Just remember one thing, this time."

"Yes?" Blake said as they started off into the green glow.

"Next time I ask if you set all this up..."

"What?"

"At least have the good sense to duck."

"Do you think we'll find anyone else here?"

"Anyone else, as in Cally, Gan, Jenna, Vila, etcetera?"

"Well, they weren't in Heaven or Hell."

"God only knows, Blake. Now, shut up and hold on."

"Yes, Avon. Of course, _Avon_. "

Avon sighed. "All right. _Roj_ , shut up and I promise, we'll use the first reasonably flat surface we come upon." There was a long pause. "Roj?"

"I was shutting up."

"Oh."

***

Peter went back to his Book of the Dead, and smiled as he neatly clipped two names out, and pasted them back into the Book of the Living. Things were going to be interesting on Earth.


End file.
